


Harry's Suite

by Bixiayu



Series: omg I love making Harry sad [1]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gwen is possessive, Harry secretly loves Pete, Kid Gwen Stacy, Kid Harry Osborn, Kid Mary Jane Watson, Kid Peter Parker, M/M, Pete is an idiot, Pete isnt Spiderman, Peter Parker Has a Family, Self Harm, Suicide Attempt, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 18:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8500645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bixiayu/pseuds/Bixiayu
Summary: A summary of Harry's life. From the beginning, to the end.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There are some trigger warnings in this story so please, read at your own risk.

My father didn't always loathe my existence.

 

Or, at least. I don't think he did.

 

It all started after my mother passed away.

 

I was five, no, I was six.

 

She had fallen ill, due to some sickness she developed  after she gave birth to me.

 

I don't really know, they all kept me in the dark.

 

_“You're too young to understand.”_

 

I remember spending every moment with her, she was my anchor, my everything.

 

I think her name was _Emily_

 

_Emily Lynn Osborn.  A Beautiful name for a beautiful woman._

 

All of a sudden, I wasn't allowed to see her anymore.

 

“Mommy is _resting_.” The doctors told me.

 

“Mommy isn't _feeling well._ ” Dad said.

 

“Your Mommy is _tired_.” Felisha said.

 

Weeks felt like years by the time I finally got a glimpse of what my mother had become.

 

Her pale sickly figure lying in her large bed. Her long flowy brown hair had lost all of its color, darkened and thinned with all the suffering she must of endured.

 

Her once blue eyes that were so full of life, sulken into her skull making dark crescents under her eyes.

 

Her once soft hands, were like sticks of bone with a thin layer skin covering them. Large bruises formed, masking her once perfect marble complexion.

 

I don't remember much of the words that were spoken between us. All I remember, was my six year old self asking her a series of questions I'm not even sure she had the answer to.

 

“ _What's wrong mommy?”_

 

_“Why don't you play with me anymore?”_

 

_“Please don't leave me alone.”_

 

_She told me to be good, that there was so much light in me that no one could take away._

 

_She told me that she would stay with me forever._

 

_And then, pointed to my heart and said six works that I would never forget._

 

 _“I will always be right here_.”

 

And when she left us, left _me_ , she took my life away too, my happiness.

 

But I didn't know that _yet_.

 

* * *

 

After her funeral. Dad wouldn't even look at me. He was pushing me away for weeks.

 

_“Daddy is busy.”_

 

_“Daddy needs some alone time.”_

 

His only company was a bottle of scotch and sleeping pills. Late at night, His sobs echoed throughout our home. Penetrated my bedroom walls. His sadness was contagious because it made me cry myself to sleep too.

 

He got over her eventually. I knew that when he started going out with different women every other weekend. Their perfume and lipstick all over his body when he would come home from his nights, or even days out.

 

But he continued to ignore me.

 

Each day spent in silence.

 

I went to _school_ and came _home_.

 

He went to _work_ and came _home_ . _Sometimes_.

 

He would leave and take off for weeks, only leaving the butler, Bernard to care for me.

 

It never really feel like “ _home_ ”

 

Not since _she left_ anyway.

 

Days went to weeks, as weeks went to months, as months turned to years.

 

I went from a young boy to a teenager

 

I spent every day in my room after school, staring at my ceiling. The only sound I heard was my heartbeat through my chest and my sniffles as tears ran down my cheeks and stained my blanket.

 

I tell myself   _“today's the day.”  “I'm going to talk to him.”_

 

But I never had the courage to.

 

Until one day, I do.

* * *

 

 

I remember the day perfectly, it was a Sunday afternoon.

 

Father doesn't have to go to work today, so he’s in his office, with a bottle of scotch in his hand.

 

 _The usual_.

 

I knock on the door.

 

 _“What is it?”_ He mumbles.

 

I introduce myself nervously as if he has never seen me before. _Does he even still remember that I exist?_

 

Then I finally ask all of the questions that have been plaguing me for years. Eating away at my mind for those countless days and nights. _Why doesn't my dad love me?_

 

He places his drink on his desk and stares at me. “ _Why_?” He repeats angrily.

 

“ _It's because you killed your mother.”_

 

_“If you had never been born, she would still be here.”_

 

_“If you never existed, I would be able to hold her in my arms again.”_

 

_“We never asked for you, we never even wanted you.”_

 

_“If I had the option to give you the disease that killed her, I would do it in a heartbeat.”_

 

_“You're an abomination.”_

 

In all honesty, I didn't know what I was expecting.

* * *

 

 

Some days are better than others.

 

Some days the pain is bearable.

 

Some days it isn't.

 

A constant sadness eating me away at the inside.

 

It tires me, uses up all of my energy.

 

I lay awake in bed in the evenings, attempting to fall asleep. But I can't sleep.

 

As I feel like my body is slowly wasting away.

 

I know I have no purpose. Hell, even my dad knows it.

 

I just want the pain to go away. I just want the pain to stop.

 

I just want to stop _existing_.

 

So I do.

 

 _For a while_.

 

Unfortunately, a couple hours later my dad entered my room and found me lying still on my bed with the empty pill bottle in my hand.

 

_I wish he hadn't found me._

 

Apparently to the doctors, It was a “ _miracle_ ” that they were able to get the poison out of my system in time.

 

_It wasn't a miracle to me._

 

_I guess I'll need a stronger dose next time._

 

All I remember was my dad's yelling from the foot of my hospital bed.

 

“How the hell could you be so selfish?”

 

“She _died_ for _you._ ”

 

* * *

 

 

After that, the doctors recommended me to see a therapist.

 

I would have to go on the weekends to talk about my _feelings_ or whatever.

 

I was resisting every attempt of comfort for a while. Giving one worded answers, being completely oblivious to any of the words coming from the therapist’s mouth.

 

_Until he started to mention my Mom._

 

And I _lost_ it.

 

I would break down crying for hours, expressing my feelings to some stranger who was probably only pretending they care because they got paid to.

 

At least I had someone to pretend to care.

 

More than I can say about Dad.

 

* * *

 

A little while later, I was diagnosed monophobia, which if left untreated, could lead to depression.

 

The fear of being alone could lead to an endless cycle of sadness that would slowly kill me from the inside out.

 

My dad, of course, didn't believe it.

 

“He doesn't need pills!” He shouted at the therapist.

 

_He was probably thinking of the last time I had my hands on pills._

 

_That didn't end well._

 

“All he needs is a bit of sunlight and he will be fine!”

 

_I wish it were that easy._

 

So my therapist recommended that I stay close to my friends.

 

“Surround _yourself_ with people that _care_ about _you_.”

 

“ _Friends_?”

 

Peter and I were friends. Until he met _Gwen Stacy._

 

_We used to text each other every night. Tell each other everything._

 

_He was the only one there for me when my Mom died._

 

Then, excuses came piling on for reasons why we could hang out anymore:

 

“ _Sorry I can't make it tonight, I'm spending the night with Gwen.”_

 

_“Gwen needs me.”_

 

_“You know why I can't come.”_

 

All I understood was, _“I don't want you anymore.”_

 

The worst part was, Peter didn't even tell me that he got a girlfriend. I had to find out from Mary Jane.

 

_And we were never even friends._

 

My best friend threw me on the side of the road like I was a piece of garbage he didn't want anymore.

 

He replaced me so easily.

 

_I guess I deserved it anyway._

 

I deserved every bad thing that had ever happened to me.

 

That's what I get for killing the only person who didn't see me for the monster I really am.

 

 _I miss you, Mom_.

* * *

 

 

 When I returned to school I was relieved to find out that not many people knew about my suicide _attempt_.

 

Only Peter knew, his dad worked at the hospital that I was admitted to.

 

And of course, with my luck, he was one of the doctors on my case.

Gwen probably also knew because, Pete tells her everything. _Just like he used to tell me everything._

 

_Now he won't even look at me._

 

_He probably thinks I'm even more pathetic than usual._

 

 _Figures_.

 

The day seemed pretty normal, I would get my crap from my locker and go to a bunch of classes where I sat in the back and everyone ignored me.

 

 _Thank god for that_.

 

It was only at the end of the day, my cycle changed.

 

I was walking home, back to my miserable home.

 

It didn't really feel like a _home_.

 

Not since _she left_ anyway.

 

I felt a small tap on my shoulder.  

 

I turn around and meet the eyes of the boy I thought I would never see again.

 

 _Peter Parker_.

 

All I do is stare.

 

What could I say?

 

_I didn't know what to say._

 

I hadn't seen him without Gwen at least four feet away from him.

 

It was weird seeing him alone.

 

_Like a mother without a child._

 

 _Seems familiar_.

 

“Harry.” He breathed.

 

I said nothing.

 

He must of needed something, nobody talked to me unless they needed something.

 

 _I guess I was wrong_.

 

He pulled me abruptly into the biggest hug imaginable given from someone his size.

 

“Why?” He whispered. “How could you?”

 

_He actually cared about me?_

 

 _That's a surprise_.

 

Peter pulled away and stood in front of me.

 

His big brown doe eyes looking at my cowering figure.

 

I couldn't look him in the eye.

 

But I couldn't not give him an answer.

 

“I..umm…” I was lost for words.

 

_Was it because I was unhappy?_

 

 _Was it because I just hated myself so much I couldn't stand to be alive anymore_?

 

“It's okay, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine.” Peter says.

 

I nodded gratefully. I really _didn't_ want to talk about it.

 

“Look, Gwen, MJ, and I are going to go see a movie, want to come?”

 

This is the first time Peter had invited me to anything in months.

 

_I wanted to go, to desperately feel like my old self again._

 

_Who knows? Maybe we could all be friends again._

 

But I was too _tired_.

 

And I was too _hurt_.

 

_I think Peter only invited me cause of pity. Not because he actually thought we were friends._

 

_Not that he could actually understand what I'm going through._

 

The weak kid that tried to commit suicide because he had no friends in his miserable life.

 

_But being alone was better than being a third wheel._

 

Our eyes meet for the first time in forever.

 

“Thanks for inviting me.” I say. “But I can't go.”

 

Peter looked at me like I was lying.

 

 _Which I was_.

 

“My dad wants me home after school..” I lie.

 

 _Wrong_.

 

Dad wanted me out of the house, talking to people and making friends.

 

“ _Getting some sunlight_.”

 

Peter argued. “Are you sure you can't go? It's only going to be for a couple of hours.”

 

“It's just that-” I begin

 

 _I needed an excuse, quick_.

 

“I have a therapy session after school.”

 

Peter immediately backed off. “Oh okay, sorry. Maybe next time.”

 

I nod. “Yeah, sure.”

 

_I didn't know if there was ever going to be a next time._

* * *

 

 

Dad took me out of therapy when he heard enough of my “ _unimportant problems_ ” from the outside of the therapist’s office.

 

 _Big mistake_.

 

I had no one to talk to.

 

No shoulder to cry on.

 

The therapist made the pain bearable, I was able to deal with it.

 

It was as if I had a bucket in of my body to hold all of my feelings.  And everyday it would fill up just a little bit with all of the emotions I had bottled up on the inside. When the bucket was close to empty, I was..

 

_Decent_

 

_I could force a smile and shove food down my throat._

 

But as the days went on and bucket was getting close to full. I feel at my absolute lowest.

 

_I reached my breaking point._

 

_The worst I've ever felt in my entire life._

 

So on the weekend, I would talk to my therapist and empty the bucket. Spilling my feeling all over the stranger so that I could feel like my life had purpose.

 

_“If you don't let it out, you're going to let it eat you away.”_

 

It was an ongoing cycle.

 

But after Dad canceled the therapy sessions,

 

I couldn't empty out my bucket.

 

It overflowed.

 

_And you could just imagine how I felt._

 

_I stopped eating._

 

_I stopped smiling._

 

_And sleeping._

 

_As the days tread on, I lost my will to live._

 

_Again._

 

I would lie awake for hours crying into my pillow. Wishing for all the pain to go away.

 

I would rather feel nothing at all, then a constant sadness that threatened to swallow me whole.

 

Some days at school, I skipped class to cry silently in the boys bathroom.

 

Some days I cried on the dining room table while dad was at work.

 

Other days I cried in my bedroom. Where I could close the door and muffle my sobs into my pillow.

 

 _But most days, I cried on the bathroom floor_.

 

Probably because it was the farthest room away from my father's.

 

So he wouldn't have to hear me cry anymore.

 

So he wouldn't yell at me across our house to “ _Just stop”_

 

I wish I could “ _just stop_.”

 

I wish I didn't have to live like this anymore.

 

_So I did everything in my power not to._

 

* * *

 

 

Dad wasn't home after school

 

 _The usual_.

 

Only Bernard was, finishing up some work in my dad's office.

 

I wave as I go upstairs.

 

He waves back.

 

I tread upstairs to the bathroom.

 

And close the door.

 

I then grab the silver razor blade from behind the mirror.

 

I'm not sure why we have one.

 

Maybe it was just meant for _me_.

 

Pills wouldn't work, I learned that from experience.

 

I grip the blade in my hand and pull It close to my chest.

 

 _This Is it_.

 

I turn on the faucet letting the warm water fill the tub.

 

I take off my shoes and my socks as I'm only in a black tee shirt and blue jeans.

 

Placing my body into the tub letting the water seep into my clothes and warm me up. I feel like it's holding onto me, not letting my bare skin feel the cold air.

 

_Just like my mother used to._

 

I hold the razor blade in my shaking hand.

 

 _Just do it_.

 

_It will all be worth it._

 

Starting up at my shoulder, I slowly slice down deeply towards my wrist.

 

Did it hurt? _Yes_

 

Did it hurt more than the everyday pain of my existence? _Not even a little_

 

I bite down on my tongue to keep myself from screaming. I wouldn't want Bernard to come into here and find me.

 

 _Alive, anyway_.

 

I watch as the blood burst from my arm, diffusing into the water of the bathtub. Staining the water light red.

 

_I transfer the blade to the sliced up arm._

 

I proceed to do the same with my other arm. Slicing down slowly so I can savor the pain that I deserve.

 

_Monsters like me deserve to suffer._

 

_That's what I have always told myself._

 

I drop the razor blade onto the floor as I hear it clang.

 

I try not to look down at the horrific scene below me. As I'm sitting in a pool of my own blood. My body hidden with the dark red color overpowering the complexion of my pale skin.

 

I lie completely still feeling weaker each second. Vertigo dominating my vision as my eyes slowly fade closed.

 

The only disruption of the water's stillness, are the tears falling down my face, making droplets into it. Sending small ripples along the sea of blood.

 

Darkness forms around my eyesight as my breathing becomes more and more shallow with each passing second.

 

_I let out a small smile._

 

_This is the end._

 

_I'm finally free._

 

_But If I wasn't too much of a disappointment in this life. I just have one last wish._

 

_Please bury me next to my mother._

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comment if you enjoyed!
> 
> I have used my author powers powers to bring Harry back from the dead for a future third chapter yay ( two cheers for a potential Happy ending!!)


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